A Mile In The Mojave
by HailAndronikos
Summary: A young NCR sniper with old demons, a brash mercenary trying to make a name for herself, a teenager who has bigger aspirations than the Vipers, and the Courier who brings them all together to change the Mojave forever. OC main characters, Female Courier, and various recurring characters.
1. Prologue

_Prologue _

Flies buzzed in the air, red dust was kicked up by the hot desert wind, and the smell of death permeated through the arid breeze. Sand was encrusted on his face, his eyes felt like sandpaper, and his nostrils seemed as if they were about to crack. Lying face down in the dirt for three hours in 100 plus degree temperatures tended to do that to people.

"Son of a bitch... can we get this show on the road?" a voice whispered.

"We need to wait for the codeword, it's _Lucifer, _remember?" said another.

"Forget the damn codeword, I say we just go in there, and mow those assholes down, instead of waiting for them to rest and resupply," said the first voice.

"Hey, shut it! The only person who's going to say another word is me, that's an order!" boomed the Major.

The voices stopped, and the only sound that remained was the whistling of the wind, mingling with the sweat and mustiness of the soldiers, and the cool aroma of a nearby water spring.

After 10 minutes of waiting, the first footsteps were heard. Slowly but surely, the ones labeled as "vile, scum, degenerate, and worthless" by the ones in charge, marched slowly out of their settlement. These vile people were actually women and children. Sobbing women clutching their infants tight, trying to desperately protect them from the fire that was soon to rain upon them. Children no older than four or five, creeping out with eyes wide in fear, holding onto the legs of their parents, unsure of what was going to happen next, and why there were these bad, ugly looking men and women outside with those big scary guns. Next came the elderly; men and women of various conditions. Some that walked as if they hadn't gone a day past 50. Others could barely stand, and leaned on their sons and daughters and grandsons and granddaughters for support, unaware of what was to happen next.

"Christ... when they said Khans I thought they meant the goddamn junkies and the freaks," a voice whispered.

"Yeah... We can't go through with this, it's a massacre," agreed a female voice.

"Alright, be ready to fire on my word," ordered the Major.

Sounds of protest echoed everywhere. '_What?' 'This is murder!' 'I won't do it!' 'Ah hell, the Khans are all the same, shoot all of em!'_

_ "_I said, on my word!" screamed the Major.

The Khans quickened their pace, realizing that the NCR wouldn't discriminate between able-bodied men, and women, children, and the elderly. Women began to scream, running frantically in the other direction towards the many cazador nests, others simply stared, put into some sort of accepting trance by the dozens of rifles aimed at them.

"Lucifer!"

Nobody fired a shot.

"I said Lucifer goddammit! If you don't empty your goddamn magazines, so help me God I'll shoot you myself!"

One man fired, his bullet hitting a young woman in the stomach, causing her to fall to the dusty earth immediately, clutching her abdomen as blood began to pour out of her fatal wound.

Another man fired, killing a young boy. Then another rifle shot rang out, until the small mountain pass became emblazoned in the cacophony of death. It was all over in 30 seconds, the terrible ensemble ceasing, and not one Great Khan left surviving.

Corporal Jamie Rossi didn't fire a single shot. He laid there and closed his eyes, waiting for the hellish nightmare to pass over, and although it only lasted half a minute, it felt like the longest half minute that he would ever endure. Slowly, Jamie rose from the ground, hands trembling and legs quaking, still under shock from what had just happened. He looked over to his right, and saw Carrie, the fiery young Sergeant who had a love for violence. The look in her eyes said it all. _It's okay Jamie, I didn't fire either_.

"Yes Colonel, 100 Great Khans dead...Yes, no civilian casualties, just Khans armed to the teeth...Yes, we'll regroup at McCarran in four hours. Understood, Major Taylor out."

Jamie had half a mind to shoot the major right then and there, but thought better of it. If he had shot the Major, whose report on the Bitter Springs operation was confirmed as an overwhelming success, he would've been court-martialed and put to the firing squad. Nobody would've said a single word.

Jamie and his squad made their way down the mountain and headed West. When they turned the corner onto a different trail, one of his squad mates stumbled into a woman and her young teenage son, who tripped and fell to the ground. The two strangers struggled to regain their footing, and Jamie helped the young woman up with a smile, just as Major Taylor rounded the corner.

"What is this? Khans? Why aren't they dead?" he growled.

The young woman's face immediately went to horror, and rose her hands up in shock.

"N-no sir, me and my son just came up to get water from the spring. The Khans let us use it provided we pay them..." the woman stammered.

"Yeah, that's what they always say," Taylor scoffs. "Corporal Rossi? Execute this young woman," he said bluntly.

Jamie froze. He couldn't just kill a woman in cold blood in front of her son, but yet he couldn't defy a direct order from the Major, who would probably kill him if he didn't comply. Jamie's palms began to sweat even more, and his hands began to shake once more, his heart about to beat out of his chest.

"Do it! Or I _will _end you. You know why I hate Khans; they bring society backwards, dealing drugs, robbing caravans, pillaging from the innocent. They deserve nothing more than a bloody death," Taylor sneered.

Jamie hadn't moved a muscle. The Major took this as a sign of defiance, and immediately unholstered his .357 revolver and pressed it against Jamie's temple. Carrie looked on in shock, and Jamie's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets.

"Do it!"

With a shaking breath, Jamie unholstered his sidearm and pointed it at the woman, who was now sobbing. Her son, a boy with short blonde hair and blue eyes was pleading for the mercy of his mother, on his knees desperately trying to prove that they weren't Khans

_ I'm sorry._

Jamie pulled the trigger, and the woman's brains flew out the back of her skull, her body dead before she hit the dusty floor. The young boy collapsed over his dead mother, and began uttering sobs and wails the likes Jamie had never heard.

The Major smirked, and turned away, heading back up the pass to assemble the rest of the unit.

"Major, where is the rest of the unit?" Jamie asked with a trembling whisper.

"Up the road, I just came down here to take a piss. Get that load of shit out of the pass so we can get down the mountain," Taylor said, spitting in the direction of the dead woman.

As soon as Taylor turned around, Jamie fired three rounds into the back of the Major. To finish the job, Jamie hauled the now wheezing and bloody Major to the edge of the cliff, before kicking him off with a _thump_.

"If anyone asks, this woman pulled a gun on the major and shot him, in his wounded state he fell off the cliff, and I had to kill the woman in self-defense," Jamie ordered.

Nobody said a word.


	2. Insignificant

_ A/N: Shorter chapters to start the story. The chapters after all the introductions are made will be about double this length._

* * *

It was yet another wild Friday night at the Atomic Wrangler. Dean Martin blared over the radio, and some of the patrons joined in with his iconic _'Ain't That A Kick In The Head!' _Others were drowning themselves in the cheap booze served at the bar, trying to sink in their sorrows of another hard day in the wastes, or chugging the vodka and beer happily, finally free to indulges in their vices for yet another night. Some were drowning themselves in cheap women; the only time you could tell were the moans and pounding sounds from the rooms on the second level. Sometimes the especially horny ones tried to do the nasty on the casino floor, but that was ended quickly with a stern warning by one of the guards and an escort to the nearest available room. The ones who tested their fortunes tried a hand at the many slots, blackjack, or if they really felt lucky, took a spin on the roulette wheel. Countless customers ended up walking out of the Atomic Wrangler in either a jubilant gait, or a dejected slump. It was a relaxed, carefree atmosphere, and many didn't want the night to end.

Miranda Jameson was so tense it felt like she was about to go into battle. Her heart was beating faster and faster, and Dean Martin's crescendo seemed all but a distant haze in the back of her mind.

She held the two cards in her hand, a nine of hearts and a five of clubs. _14. _Her mind and heart were running wild. If she chose to hit, she would have close to a 40% chance of going bust, a number she was pretty comfortable with. However, the poor old sap before her had gone bust with an 8 when he held 14, and he lost everything. So really, what were the odds of the exact same thing happening again? If she decided to pussy out and stay at 14, the greasy merc sitting across from the table wouldn't have to do shit to take every single thing she owned.

Miranda was the daughter of Alex Jameson, a former New Reno casino and drug kingpin. She had grown up around the casino lifestyle, seeing people's houses lost in the roll of a dice, others' lives were exchanged by the turn of a card. It was nothing out of the ordinary to see someone shot over a card game, because the stakes were just that _high._ When her family lost everything after a series of bad Jet deals, she hadn't had a cap to her name, and her name didn't mean jack shit down in the Mojave either.

So when one of the resident mercenaries, who went by the ridiculous name of Hammer, in Freeside called her out, saying that she was a "Daddy's Girl that didn't know a dick from the barrel of a rifle" she decided to shut him up for good. Miranda knew that she definitely couldn't handle him in a bar fight- she was a skinny 22 year old, only 5'7 and 120 lbs. Her long dark hair would only serve as a disadvantage to her, no matter how tight she tried to tie it up. Hammer was about 6'4, and looked like he weighed 270 lbs of pure muscle and bone. Nothing she did with her arms and legs would ever harm that man.

On the draw, she was fairly confident with her 10mm pistol, but Hammer's goons followed him everywhere. If she managed to get a shot on Hammer, his lap dogs would gun her down in a flash. Not about to let some dumb, ugly motherfucker with a lazy eye insult her like that, she decided to beat him in the way she knew best; the blackjack tables. Hammer put up 2,000 caps, his assault rifle, and a promise that he wouldn't bother Miranda's operations in Freeside- a promise she didn't really think he would stick to, but it was a start. Miranda put up every one of her possessions. All she had were the clothes on her back, 250 caps, and a sweet connection to a high-profile Jet dealer. So what did she have to lose? Go big or go home, right? She didn't even know why Hammer even accepted the bet- his potential winnings paled in comparison to his potential losses. So either he was even dumber than Miranda thought, or there was something in the macho mercenary code that wouldn't allow him to refuse a challenge from a woman. The latter was probably true, and to be honest, it kind of pissed Miranda off.

"Hit me," grumbled Hammer, as he quietly fingered his cards.

The dealer nodded in response, and handed the huge mercenary his card. As soon as he received it, Hammer's eyes went wide in shock, and a huge grin grew on his face. Hammer threw down his cards on the table face-up, and rose from his seat, pumping his fists. One of Hammer's goons, an even uglier man with a shaved head and a missing right eye, gave his boss a joyous fist bump.

"20! Suck on that bitch!" cried Hammer. On the table lay a nine, an ace, and a queen.

Miranda rolled her eyes, trying desperately to keep a stoic demeanor. She began to panic, the realization that she would lose everything she brought with her from New Reno would be gone, if she didn't somehow get a seven.

"Hit me," Miranda said with an expressionless mutter.

The dealer nodded, and dealt her the next card in the deck.

_Lucky number seven. _

Miranda grabbed the nearby bottle of homemade rum, opened it, and began to drink the entire bottle, straight from the source. 21 made her a winner, and she hadn't felt this happy in a long time.

"Hey, I-" Hammer began, but Miranda cut him off, holding up her index finger. _One second_, _you ugly asshole._

Miranda managed to finish the entire bottle, letting out a refreshing sigh and a loud burp.

"Oh, I'm sorry, what's that again? The jangling of your caps in my pocket is just so noisy..." Miranda smirked, and this caused Hammer to glow almost red.

"Listen you little bitch, I don't need to pay jack fucking shit to you! You think I'm going to pay some _woman?_ So how about you walk right on out of here while you still can, if you're fond of your hair, eyes, and those pretty little tits of yours," Hammer growled.

Miranda contemplated Hammer's threat, and much to the surprise of him and his goons, she accepted his terms.

"You're right, consider it a friendly game. I'll see you around, eh?" Miranda smiled, even extending her hand to shake Hammer's.

"Stop fucking with me."

"No, totally sincere."

With an almost hilarious look of confusion, Hammer shook her soft, small hand.

Nobody noticed the empty bottle of rum in her other palm.

"Alright boys, let's get out of-" Hammer said, just as Miranda smashed the bottle over the top of his greasy head.

Miranda could feel the old glass embed itself in the mercenary's face, and a few shards she thought got into his eye. Hammer crumbled to the ground immediately in a loud crash. The music on the radio came to a screeching halt, and Hammer's goons jumped out of their chairs, drawing their pistols and rifles alike, and pointing them at Miranda's face, which had gotten considerably red. The dealer made a swift beeline away from the table, making sure he wasn't going to be involved in the upcoming confrontation, and possibly become a hostage or collateral damage.

_Goddammit... why the hell do I always do these kind of things..._

The casino, once full of life had become dead silent. The gamblers nearest to Miranda's blackjack table slowly backed away, taking their chips with them. The armed guard at the door drew his weapon, and fingered the safety on his rifle nervously. Francine Garrett stopped counting the stockpile of caps behind the counter, and watched the unfolding scene with a keen eye.

Sighing in defeat and regret, Miranda raised her hands up slowly in surrender, and the one-eyed merc gave her a sinister, ugly smile.

"Not so brave now are you, ya bitch?" One Eye sneered, shoving the barrel of his .308 hunting rifle into Miranda's face.

"What, you just mad that your little fuck buddy can't bone you in the eye no more?" Miranda scoffed, motioning towards the unconscious Hammer.

One Eye looked as if he was seriously contemplating shooting her in the face right then and there.

_Goddammit, why in the hell do I keep saying and doing things that I regret right after?..._

"Keep running that dick trap of yours and I might just have to _make _you shut up, you stupid little slut," One Eye growled, jamming the barrel of the rifle right between her eyes.

It took all the self-control in the world for Miranda not to lash out and rip One Eye's throat out with her bare hands. Where she came from, nobody talked to her like that. She was Mr. Jameson's daughter. She was always greeted respectfully and with dignity. Often times it was out of fear, but in truth, she enjoyed that. Miranda could always fall back on the fact that she was the daughter of Alex Jameson, the man who basically ran New Reno.

One time, when she was 19 and working the floors of her father's casino, Thunder Ridge, an obscenely drunk man from one of the lesser gang outfits in the city grabbed her ass twice. The first was met with a bitter backhand to the face. The second time he grabbed her, she ordered two of her Father's henchmen to drag the drunk pervert into the alley outside, where Miranda personally beat him to a bloody pulp with a lead pipe. The only time she ever heard about the incident again, an envoy from the man's gang was in her Father's office to _apologize._ Miranda had smirked, knowing that she would be treated just as if nothing had ever happened, even though it circulated through the entire underbelly of New Reno's criminal underworld.

Miranda could rely on her status in her old life, but here, she was nothing more than a grain in the miles upon miles of dusty sand in the Mojave. And to be honest with herself, under all her tough talk and bravery, she was scared because of that.

"Okay fine, you win, I don't want any more trouble," Miranda said calmly, being absolutely serious this time. She wasn't about to make another dumb mistake that would probably get her killed.

"Smart choice. I'm an honorable man, so instead of killing you, I'll let you off with a... fee for harming my good friend here. Give me your armor, your weapon, and 200 caps, for the medical bill," demanded One Eye.

Miranda groaned. That was almost everything she had. The pistol she didn't really care about... it was something that she bought from a caravan merchant for 50 caps. 200 caps only left her with 50, and that would only get her two nights at the Wrangler, not to mention food and drink... The combat armor was a fine piece of material, something that she bought from Grant, the main weapons and armor merchant in New Reno. It had set her back 2,500 caps from her own personal fund, and would probably fetch triple that amount here.

One Eye's terms were _steep_, but she had no other choice.

"Yeah fine, I agree to your fucking deal..." Miranda grumbled, already digging into her pockets for the caps.

"Good girl."

The casino had settled down when everyone realized that there wouldn't be a confrontation. Chips continued to fall, drinks were being pounded back once more, and the blissful moans and creaking sounds echoed through the joint as if it hadn't missed a beat. Even Frank Sinatra's _Blue Moon _rang off the walls.

Miranda handed One Eye the 200 caps, her weapon, and all of her ammo to go with it. She began to slowly undress out of her armor, revealing only a dirty, sweat stained, dusty tank top, with her tits precariously on the edge of busting out of her shirt. One Eye's eyebrows popped straight up at the sight of this.

"Well look at this... if you had told me you had all that going on under that fine piece of armor, we would've worked out an... agreement..." One Eye whispered, disgusting Miranda to the point where she might have puked right on the spot.

"In your fucking dreams," Miranda hissed.

"Yeah well, let's say it's part of our deal to make it a reality," One Eye said, stepping way too close for Miranda's comfort.

She could smell the mix of alcohol and cheap tobacco on his breath, and his body odor was so bad she felt as if she was going to faint.

One Eye took the armor from her hands and tossed it with ease over to one of the other goons nearby. He walked right up to Miranda and grabbed her around the waist, trying to pull her close to him.

"Get the fuck off me!" Miranda yelled, struggling frantically to get the disgusting mercenary off of her.

One Eye grabbed her breasts, and at that very instant, Miranda managed to land a firm knee right to his crotch. One Eye doubled over in immense pain, and Miranda threw a heavy right uppercut to the bottom of his jaw, causing blood from his mouth to fly everywhere, along with knocking a couple of teeth across the room. One Eye fell to the floor in a heap.

She pounced on him as he lay on the dirty casino floor, landing punch after punch, feeling the bones of One Eye's face crack and mangle after each blow. Miranda became so enthralled in beating the man to death with her fists that she didn't notice the butt of a rifle coming straight at her temple.

Then everything went black.


End file.
